


Crossing Frozen Territory

by kindofspecificstore



Series: Not Your Average High School AU [2]
Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxious David Rose, Getting Back Together, M/M, Mentioned Sebastien Raine, Underage Substance Use, Winter, this time we're going snowshoeing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:40:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25742230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kindofspecificstore/pseuds/kindofspecificstore
Summary: Patrick has dark, purplish circles under his eyes, and he certainly looks more pale than normal. It had started last week, when Rachel sent him the New York Times article about that family. A think piece on a certain soap star’s reaction to Sunrise Bay’s cancellation. Right after the Interflix business manager’s tax scandal. Rachel’s message was just an article link with a text underneath. All it read was, “guess he might be coming back.” Patrick didn’t have to read the article to know what she was getting at.(It's been two years since David left outdoor school, and hearts have been broken. Luckily, he's returned just in time for snowshoe trip.)
Relationships: Patrick Brewer & Rachel, Patrick Brewer/David Rose, Stevie Budd & David Rose
Series: Not Your Average High School AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1853398
Comments: 130
Kudos: 115





	1. A Rose Returning

**Author's Note:**

> Once upon a time, I wrote a fic for SC Sportsfest and submitted it right before I went camping. (very on brand for the author of this series, no?) I loved writing the first half of this story so much... I needed to stay in this beautiful world a little longer, so I wrote the outline for part 2 on the drive up. While my friends were swimming in the lake, I climbed up a tree and wrote the first chapter. (Okay it was bent over the water, so "climbed" might be a stretch.)
> 
> So welcome back! It's two years later, and there's been some heartbreak since we last visited our friends at Schitt's Creek Outdoor School. If you're new here, I'd recommend reading part 1 of the series first to ensure maximum feels. Not to worry, all's well that ends well. The fic is complete so I'll be posting a chapter every couple days.
> 
> Many thanks to fishyspots for being an excellent beta 💕

**CHAPTER 1: A Rose Returning**

The car pulls along into an all-too-familiar pathway, except this time it’s covered in snow. He didn’t expect the memories to start flooding back so soon.

“Omigod David. You didn’t tell me how cute this is. It’s, like, out of a storybook!” Alexis would be clapping her hands if she didn’t need them both on the steering wheel.

“Mhm,” David mimics her tone. It may be picturesque, but all he wants to do is cry. He didn’t think he’d ever come back here. 

The car pulls into the parking lot, which has yet to be graced by the notorious yellow school bus. At least this time around David Rose is early. (He has to be — Alexis needs to turn the car around to get to the public school on time.) (And he wasn’t ready to go back to Elmdale High just yet.)

“Look at this!” The car stops. “David, you little wilderness explorer! You didn’t tell me this is where you went to school!”

“Um. Alexis. I FaceTimed you from this parking lot _several_ times!”

“Yeah but it was never in the winter, silly!” She boops him on the nose.

She has a point there. When David was last here, it was fall semester, so Alexis saw more orange leaves than snow. He’s impressed she remembers as much. There’s a tap on David’s window. He jumps. A very smiley face with blonde hair sticking out of a toque leans down towards the glass. 

_Is that?_

David rolls his window down halfway, weary of the cold breeze that will inevitably drift in.

“David! Hey bud! Didn’t know you were coming back to Schitt’s Creek!” Ted grins from ear to ear. David opens his mouth to respond, but he’s stopped by Alexis reaching across the driver’s seat.

“Hi, I’m Alexis,” she offers Ted a dainty hand. “I’m David's sister and spiritual guide.” Ted smiles, readily taking her fingers in his palm. 

“Nice to meet you. Which program are you in this semester?”

“Oh I’m not enrolled here. Ew. I’m just dropping off David before first period at Elmdale High.”

“Cool,” Ted smiles and nods, clearly taken by her. (As David assumed everyone would be.) (Which is exactly why he wanted the car this morning.) (Or maybe it just comes down to avoiding the school bus.)

“Alexis, if you’ll excuse us, Ted and I have school to get to.” David grabs his backpack from the back seat. Ted is still leaning into the car window, explaining that he lives down the street from campus, so he just walks to the outdoor education centre every morning. He also tells her that he’s on Elmdale High’s swim team, and Alexis eats it up. She starts talking about the intro to business class she’s “like, totally excited for!” while David climbs out of the car. 

“K, thanks so much.” David almost slams the door on her. Alexis pouts, clearly wishing that she could keep talking Ted’s ear off. 

It’s only a short walk with Ted over to that classic wooden archway. It feels like coming home. (Almost.) There are too many memories here, memories he’s oscillated between trying to forget and desperately replaying when things have gotten dark. It’s been too long, but also not long enough. 

Out of the archway come two figures through the falling snow, wrapped snugly in winter coats.

“David!”, a very excited (as always) Ray runs up to them. Ronnie stays behind, keeping her joy much more subdued. 

“I’m so happy you’re back! I can’t wait to hear about everything you’ve learned from your fancy New York art school. Have you brought your portfolio with you?” Ray’s fingers dance. It was Ray’s phone call that had pushed David’s transfer credits to the top of the list. The latter half of his first Schitt’s Creek Outdoor School stint was spent with him, fine tuning his more complex pieces. (The other part of outdoor school was painful to think about.)

David smiles humbly and bobs his head. He’s certainly felt himself improve since going back to New York, but there’s something missing from his art. Ronnie saves him from having to speak as she finally catches up to Ray. 

“Morning David, Ted.” Her voice is gravelly, but the thermos of coffee she’s holding and the fact that she’s seeing a familiar face makes her eyes kind. “Ray and I were just coming out to wait for the school bus. David, you wanna head inside and get the fire started?”

“Sure,” David whispers gratefully. He thought he had dressed warmly enough for today, but living in a big city for an extended amount of time makes a person forget how to dress for the weather. (He can’t believe he’s criticizing himself for something that would normally be coming out of Roland’s mouth.)

David readjusts his backpack, heading through the archway and down the path to the main cabin.

Nothing has changed, but everything has changed. For one, they’re in the peak of winter, so the garden boxes have been covered with a greenhouse structure. The whole camp is covered in a thick, untouched blanket of snow, but everything is somehow more dull. The sky is overcast, and the forest leading towards the pond is completely silent. It’s missing a certain something. 

A certain _someone_. 

***

Patrick sighs, head resting against the frosted bus window, hand wrapping around his mason jar of steaming earl grey.

“If I didn’t know you any better, I’d say you look like a wife waiting for her husband to come home from the war,” Rachel says, sliding in beside him. She throws her backpack at her feet and places her cloth bag of snow gear in her lap. 

Patrick sneers. 

“Morning Rach,” he mutters. 

Rachel lifts her eyebrows, taking in Patrick’s sullen form. This is not typical Patrick Brewer behaviour. In fact, he’s had a countdown to outdoor school in his meticulous planner all semester. (As would anyone who had to take law, calculus, and finance courses at the same time.) To say he had been itching to get back to a semester of outdoor school would be an understatement. 

Patrick has dark, purplish circles under his eyes, and he certainly looks more pale than normal. It had started last week, when Rachel sent him the New York Times article about that family. A think piece on a certain soap star’s reaction to Sunrise Bay’s cancellation. Right after the Interflix business manager’s tax scandal. Rachel’s message was just an article link with a text underneath. All it read was, “guess he might be coming back.” Patrick didn’t have to read the article to know what she was getting at. 

Rachel tries to find the right words for Patrick, but it’s proving difficult. She opens her mouth, then closes it. Luckily, she’s saved by Twyla and Stevie boarding the bus.

“Good morning,” Twyla practically sings. Her cheeks are rosy from walking to Elmdale High in the snow, the hand-knit headband she’s wearing pushing back her high pony. (Rachel’s matching one is in her snow gear bag.) She smiles, leaning down to kiss Rachel’s cheek, and runs a hand through her newly chopped hair. (It’s been almost two years since they got together, and Rachel is a big fan.) Twyla grabs a seat in front of them.

Stevie comes up behind her with a trademark large double double. (She used to take her coffee black, like her soul, but a certain friend had introduced her to a higher sugar content.) She’s wearing sunglasses, even though the sky is covered in clouds. 

“I got a two-page email from Ray last night with an in-depth explanation about what art supplies he wanted me to bring. I think he’s still in denial about me being in Ronnie’s section.”

Rachel frowns at that. “I didn’t know you switched.”

“Yeah, I gotta get those business credits if I want to take over the family motel someday.” Stevie takes a long pull of her coffee, depositing herself in the seat next to Twyla. Twyla smiles sadly back at Rachel before sharing the ways that Ronnie’s classes are more helpful for her job at the cafe. Rachel already knows this, but she’s still pouty about it. 

“So I’m going to be all by myself in the art section, huh?”

Stevie pulls her sunglasses back on her head, lips in a straight, thin line. “Actually, you will have a familiar face with you.” Her eyes dart over to Patrick, and the girls grow quiet. 

Up until now, Patrick has been peacefully ignoring their conversation, staring out the window into the snowy abyss. The silence is palpable, and it’s becoming awkward. He slowly slides his gaze toward his friends, who look back, sad and sympathetic. 

“What?” His eyebrows knit together. He takes a sip of tea. 

Stevie mouths the two syllables he hasn’t been able to say aloud.

_David._

Just then, the bus starts to roar to life. He coughs and sputters, earl grey stuck in his windpipe.

“What?” This time Patrick barely makes it above a whisper, eyes wide.

From the front of the bus, Bob the Bus Driver yells something about it being El DeBarge’s half birthday, cranking Rhythm of the Night. 

Patrick Brewer is fucked.


	2. What are Best Friends For?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David reunites with Rachel. Patrick goes on a walk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How y'all doing? I'm so happy there's excitement for this sequel! It's my first time writing something that strays away from soft and sentimental so it's nice to see people digging it.
> 
> Lynda Barry is referenced in this chapter- she's a phenomenal writer/artist and Rachel is a big fan in this universe. (One of my absolute joys in writing this world is expanding on Rachel's character.)
> 
> Virtual hugs to fishyspots for beta-ing the heck out of this.

**CHAPTER 2: What are Best Friends For?**

Ray comes up and places two mismatched mugs of hot water on David and Rachel’s table, along with a basket of tea samples. They both look up from their work briefly to smile and give a silent thanks. Ray continues to stand there, hands clasped together, watching them.

“Can we help you?” David whispers, leafing through the basket of tea in search of peppermint. Rachel looks up timidly, noticing Ray’s sunshine smile, eyes almost glistening with tears.

“Just so happy to have some of my favourite students back for their senior year,” Ray gushes, shrugging his shoulders. Rachel smiles back at him thinly, reaching for a sachet of lemon ginger before handing back the basket. 

“Thanks Ray.” She tries to respond with the same enthusiasm, but her face doesn’t get the memo. He grabs the basket from her, whispers, “Don’t tell the others,” winks, and walks over to visit Heather and Tennessee’s table. 

Since their studies are now more concentrated, having two separate senior sections of Schitt’s Creek Outdoor School has come in handy. (Especially when it comes to avoiding someone in the other class.)

It’s been maybe a year since David and Rachel last talked. She’ll like his instagram posts every now and then (notably ignoring the ones that feature Sebastian or any of his New York “friends”). The only time she messaged him directly was about a month after the move, and all it said was “he misses you.” 

David takes a deep breath, finally breaking the silence between them, eyes still glued to his self-portrait in progress.

“I didn’t think you’d want to sit beside me.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees her sketching come to a halt. Her left hand grips the non-photo blue pencil tightly. 

“It’d be hard to avoid you. There’s just eight of us taking art.” Rachel doesn’t look up. David assumes she’s just trying to be nice. She could’ve very well given him the cold shoulder.

“Besides,” Rachel continues, grip softening as she begins to sketch again, “The two of you are going to have to talk sooner or later. Might as well help rip the bandage off.”

David stops drawing and looks right at her. The shorter hair works for her, as do the gold earrings. He won’t lie to himself, he’s missed _her_ too. 

“I don’t know if I can do that yet.”

Rachel looks back at him. “Well, I’m not playing broken telephone with either of you.” She blinks. 

If David looks past Rachel, he can see Miguel and Felix trying to eavesdrop from the next table over. He’d forgotten how fast rumours spread when class sizes are this small. He narrows his eyes at them, and both make a show of going back to their sketchbooks. (It’s fine. Everyone told David how happy they were to see him when they got in from morning circle.) (Everyone in the art section, that is.) He turns back to Rachel, who is now going over the blue with a black medium flare pen. 

“I wouldn’t expect you to,” he whispers. 

Rachel looks up at him and smiles sadly. David feels like a deflating balloon. She slides her sketchbook to the centre of their table, leaning forward to give them an inch more of privacy. 

Rachel doesn’t whisper, opting to bring her soft voice down an octave. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m rooting for you guys.” 

David pulls his head back, scrunching his eyebrows. “I’m sorry, did you just paraphrase _Red White & Royal Blue _at me?”

Rachel chuckles. It took them a hot second, but he can feel their banter (which typically lands on queer novels) crawling back. It’s something he hasn’t had in a long time — Sebastian was only ever interested in Foucault. David had even started proofreading Rachel’s fanfiction before he left. (His meticulous eye was a force to be reckoned with, and it complemented Rachel’s writing style.) He glances down at Rachel’s sketch, which he now is privy to.

In a very Lynda Berry-esque way, she’s drawn a cartoon version of herself, hanging upside down by one foot off a crooked tree house. It’s beautiful, and it hits David with another wall of memories.

“Is it still up?” He asks, fingers brushing the edges of the page tentatively.

She folds her arms on the table, leaning in to look over her near-completed work. 

“Mhm,” her voice glows. “We hang out up there whenever I’m over. Sometimes, if Parker doesn’t have physical therapy, I’ll take him too.” Rachel juts her chin out, inviting David to pick up her sketchbook. He does, humming as he takes in Rachel’s perfect balance of childlike style and clear storytelling. 

“I missed this place,” David’s eyes don’t leave the page.

“Outdoor school, or Patrick’s treehouse?” Rachel asks, voice calm and casual. 

He’s surprised at himself. That’s the first time he’s heard Patrick’s name said aloud, and he hasn’t flinched. When he glances back at her, he feels the space between his eyebrows softening.

“Both, I guess.”

***

Patrick heads out of the south cabin with a bang, not bothering to zip up his coat until he’s outside. Ronnie’s powerpoint on the flaws of sustainable capitalism was not how he planned on starting his day, and he certainly didn’t need to be pulled aside after class to be told to “control his interjections.” He knows she’s right. He knows he’s on edge and taking it out on his teacher, but he’s having trouble being honest with himself. He’s having trouble being _kind_ to himself, too.

He walks down the hill to the footbridge, headed toward the trail that circles the pond. Stevie and Twyla wanted to have lunch inside before venturing out into the forest with everyone. (He thinks he remembers Ted mentioning that he brought crazy carpets.) Instead, Patrick has opted to forgo his leftover lasagna and take a self-pitying walk down memory lane. (Literally.) It may seem _overdramatic_ (okay, it definitely is), but fresh air normally helps him clear his head. 

Patrick walks over the footbridge, remembering the first day of fall semester in grade 10, when he got to see David’s art for the first time. Even then, he didn’t have words for it. David Rose can pick up a pen and subconsciously know what’s going to end up on the page. He walks past the pond, remembering the first time they were in a canoe together. He knows now that what he thought was just teaching someone how to paddle was actually talking them down from a panic attack. He steps into the woods, and sees his younger self pulling David behind a tree, stealing a kiss during a plant identification assignment. 

Patrick stops himself, unsure if he can make it any farther without his entire relationship history flashing before his eyes. Plus, his foot is hurting a little bit. He leans up against the nearest tree, gazing up at the sky through its naked branches. He thought it wouldn’t hurt this bad after all this time.

“Patrick!”

He hears a voice from the grassy pathway. _Could that be?_

He turns. Sadly, the wave of black hair belongs to Stevie. She’s running toward him in her winter boots, coat most likely back at the cabin. If _Stevie_ is _running,_ there must be some level of emergency.

She stops in front of him to catch her breath, hands falling to her knees.

“There you are,” she says, panting. She lifts her head, curtain of black hair held in place by a red beanie. 

“Here I am,” he shrugs. He frowns at himself. Patrick Brewer needs to regain control of his voice, stat.

She straightens her back and crosses her arms, as if suddenly remembering she forgot her jacket.

“Your dad is here to pick you up for your appointment.”

_Shit._

“Ffff — I forgot about that. It’s okay, I can run.”

“K,” Stevie squeaks. Her friendship with Patrick trumps her hatred for physical activity, so she reluctantly heads back with him. (This time it’s more of a jog.) He reminds himself that he has David to thank for bringing her into his life.

Neither of them say a word until they’re back on the main path, which leads into the parking lot. Stevie is the first to speak.

“Why were you going off to sulk by yourself, anyway? Usually I’m the one who prefers solitude.” (Was that an aro joke? Stevie has a knack for self-deprecating humour.)

They slow down to a walk, making it through the wooden archway. Patrick’s dad is leaning out the window, the car still running. He’s pointing at his watch. (Brewers are never late.)

Patrick shrugs. “I’ve got a lot on my mind, okay.” 

Stevie tugs the arm of his coat, lowering her voice. “Y’know, you’re going to have to talk to him eventually.”

Patrick rolls his eyes, stepping towards his Dad’s car. He opens the passenger door and turns back to Stevie.

“You know he hurt me, right?”

He climbs in and shuts the door, but not before he hears her say, 

“And _you_ know you fucked up, right?

She’s got him there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come find me on tumblr @kindofspecificstore. I adore writing this little universe and will absolutely take prompts :)


	3. Snowshoes & Sled Dogs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first time out snowshoeing. It goes as well as you might think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya pals. Y'all ready for a David & Patrick reunion? (Maybe grab a comfy blanket.) (I'm sorry, this one might sting a little bit.)
> 
> There is a brief reference to alcohol abuse in this chapter. The story as a whole doesn't go into much detail, but I'm going to adjust the tags accordingly. If you have any particular triggers you're concerned about, please let me know.
> 
> As always, many thanks to fishyspots for their beta work. I owe you like 10 coffees.

**CHAPTER 3: Snowshoes & Sled dogs**

David sits on the bench outside the equipment shed, staring down at his fugly winter boots. They may not be designer, but they’re the highest-quality brand available from Hudson’s Bay. It was the last purchase he made before his dad took away his credit card, when he knew his family was going back to the country house for good. (More specifically, it was hours after the New York penthouse had been repossessed and they were put on a fucking _coach bus_ headed for the Canadian border.) If David was going back to the country house, that meant that he could go back to Schitt’s Creek. He didn’t even have to ask. They had just pulled into the checkpoint in Buffalo when he got a one-line email from Ronnie.

_Just read the news. You’re welcome back at outdoor school, no ppk necessary._

If David was going back to Canadian winter, he was going to walk through life in _durable_ (the word still makes him want to vomit) shoes. 

He taps his heels together three times. _There’s no place like home._ (Maybe when he gets home, he’ll watch _The Wizard of Oz._ ) Home, the country house, feels crowded now that there are three more people than he’s used to. When he was going to school here nearly two years ago, his mother had only dropped by for a few days. (It made life _very_ easy when he and Patrick were dating.) He sighs, knowing that he’ll have to face him eventually.

Luckily, Ronnie’s section hasn’t come in from lunch yet. Apparently, Ted ran home to grab crazy carpets, so they were still making their way back from the forest. David sits with Rachel and the other artsy kids, as Roland sorts through a pile and passes each of them a pair of snowshoes. _Showshoes._ At least this time around, David isn’t required to stay afloat in a body of water. 

“Okee folks, I’m gonna get ya to strap on these guys,” Roland holds up a snowshoe, gently smacking it with his palm. David listens attentively as Roland tells them how far their boots should go into the shoes before lacing up, gently testing the movement in his feet. It’s not _that_ bad, plus he’s wearing fingerless gloves which allow him to fasten his boots more securely. 

Tennessee is sitting on David’s left. She leans over, whispering in a breezy voice.

“Have you ever seen an a-frame winter tent, David? We get to line the floor with balsam boughs. Absolutely grounding for the soul.”

He shrugs, thinking aloud. “That’s a scent palette I could get behind.” 

Tennessee nods sagely, as if she too speaks in scent palettes. Rachel scoffs from his other side, getting up from the bench. “At least this time there’s a stove inside the tent. Less chance of me waking up freezing.”

_Interesting._ So winter trip was already looking a whole lot different than canoeing. Good. 

Rachel must see that David is still processing. She grabs his hand, helping him up from the bench, and whispers, “there was an info session before the holidays,” which tells David just enough.

_Everyone is new to this._

_You are not special._

_You’re not going to stand out like last time._

David lets his thoughts recycle and repeat themselves as Roland sends them out to wait in the field. While they walk, David asks Heather how her family’s goats are doing. Maybe it’s because David Rose is a nice person who wants to catch up with his classmate. Maybe it’s because they’re passing by the business kids coming up the pathway, and David would rather be invested in polite conversation than look like he’s scouting for someone. He watches Miguel climb off the path and up the snowbank that borders the main field, his other classmates following suit. 

Someone hits his arm.

“Ow!” He grabs it, immediately shooting daggers at whoever the culprit is beside him.

“How did you not see me coming?” 

And there is Stevie Budd, glaring right back at him in an oversized puffer coat and a knitted red beanie. He didn’t know she was a pom-pom kind of girl. (She probably isn’t; Twyla is just very generous when it comes to her knitting projects.) They stare at each other for half a second before she tackles him in a hug. It practically knocks the wind out of him, but David Rose doesn’t care.

“I missed you,” she whispers in his ear. David sniffs, eyes suddenly watering. He had been so focused on avoiding Patrick, he had forgotten Stevie was also coming back to Schitt’s Creek. 

She lets go of him, wiping her eyes and taking an interest in the snowy ground. David knows there’s only so many squishy feelings Stevie can tolerate in a day (it’s why they’re such good friends), and knows he can get them back on track.

“Well, I guess I thought about you sometimes,” he twists his mouth into a smile and quirks an eyebrow.

They both know that David is downplaying it. They both know that she was the person he called after his first bender. They both know that she social media stalked Sebastian in an attempt to convince David he was making a bad decision. But now is not the time.

Stevie looks up at him with the smallest smile.

“Go get your snowshoes on,” David shoos her away. “We’ll talk on the trail.”

She nods, rushing over to the equipment shed. 

  
  


Roland stands in the centre of the field, demonstrating how the tumpline from the wanigans are repurposed and attached to the winter sleds. _Sleds._ Instead of being piled into canoes, their personal gear is strapped onto these custom made wooden monstrosities, which they will have to _pull_ through the _tundra_ that is Algonquin Park. David’s nose wrinkles in distaste. He had been so focused on his art this morning, he forgot that part of going to outdoor school meant he had to be physically active. _In the freezing cold._ Roland starts assigning pairs to sleds (what are they, _snow dogs?_ ), and sends them out on a practice run through the trail. David notices he’s pairing students with varying levels of ability, which he thinks is smart, until he remembers that’s the exact assumptive bullshit that got him stuck with Ted in a canoe on his first day. He’s reliving that god awful occurrence until he realizes that everyone has been assigned a sled and is disappearing into the woods.

Roland stuffs his hands in his pockets, walking up to David with a knowing look.

“Hey Dave,” Roland’s voice is softer than normal. “I got a call from your mom’s agent yesterday—“

“That’s just my sister pretending she has an ounce of responsibility,” David cuts in.

“Uh huh,” Roland nods. “Well, your _mom’s agent_ said that you’d gone off your anti-anxiety medication. Just wanted to check in and see how you’re feeling about winter trip.”

_Goddammit, Alexis._

David exhales sharply through his nose. There’s nothing he hates more than talking about his mental health status with his teachers. 

“Sorry I’m late!” Interrupts a figure wearing a navy blue ski jacket and running toward them, snowshoes tucked underneath one arm.

Patrick Brewer stands before David and Roland, out of breath, cheeks rosy from the cold. (He’s still beautiful. David hates himself a little because that’s his first thought when he sees Patrick.) Patrick busies himself with strapping his snowshoes on and avoiding David’s eyes. ( _Of course_ he’s already snowshoed before and doesn’t need any instructions.)

Roland smiles as if he has a secret, glancing back and forth between the two of them. (Even the teachers are in on the gossip sometimes.)

“Great, so you two will take the last sled out on the trail,” Roland claps his hands and rubs them together. 

David is seething at him. Roland smiles, gesturing to the last sled, standing idly beside him. 

“Get going, my dudes,” he saunters away, watching to make sure they leave.

Patrick gets up, finally finished lacing up his snowshoes. He looks at David like a lost puppy, waiting for him to make the first move. Once again, David is shooting daggers. He rolls his eyes and bends down to pick up the tumpline.

“Let’s get this fucking over with.”

***

Patrick grunts, pulling the sled behind him while keeping what is probably too tight a grip on the leather tumpline. He had forgotten how cutting David could be, so he decided to bite right back with, “Maybe I should be the one in front because you have no idea where you’re going.” Then he marched off into the forest. 

David hadn’t said anything in response. He hasn’t said anything at all since they got onto the trail. Deep down, Patrick knows that he’s wrong, that David probably _does_ know Schitt’s Creek off the back of his hand, just like Patrick. But it’s not fair. David was the one who chose to leave, and Patrick’s competitive side wants to give himself the upper hand. (Maybe it’s more than just his competitive side.) Someone needs to break this silence, and David did it the first time.

“You’re quiet,” he mutters, not looking back to the rear of the sled where David is steering. 

“I’m sorry, what?” David calls, out of breath, audibly struggling while trying to push the wooden pole into the back of the sled. 

Patrick stops. He turns, noticing a disheveled David Rose, grey peacoat made of pure wool, a few stray hairs falling out of his iron coif. Patrick’s brain taunts him, calling back to canoe trip when David had forgone his collection of products, and Patrick got to run his hands through his curls. (After that, David had given up on styling his hair altogether. Patrick guesses that New York maybe reversed that.) 

David hangs onto the pole, sighing. “What do you want from me, Brewer?”

Patrick had not come prepared for this conversation. The whole ride back from physio, his Dad had been going through his spring training schedule. Patrick opens his mouth, then closes it. _Brewer._ David never called him that.

He scoffs, turning back to face the trail. “You know what, forget it.”

They carry on, trudging through the snow in silence. It’s been a hot minute since Patrick has snowshoed, but he feels fine. Even after Derrick worked on his foot for an hour, he feels fine. (At least, he’s trying to tell himself that.) The trail ahead takes a small dive next to the tree walk area in the forest. (At least Roland hasn’t got them doing team-building exercises yet.) 

“Patrick, wait!” David yells from behind him. But Patrick Brewer doesn’t wait. Patrick Brewer is doing just fine, so he keeps going down the hill, sled in tow. 

He thinks he hears a gasp, then a tumble. Then suddenly, the smooth sound of plastic rudder on wet snow whips past him, the sled taking on a mind of its own and taking Patrick down with it. He loses his balance, involuntarily barrelling to the ground and down the hill.

_Fuck._ All the progress he just made with Derrick is probably redacted. 

He lies on his back, staring up at the sky. He wishes that the snow would cover him up and swallow him whole. Patrick looks to his left and sees the sled a few metres away, having finally slowed to a halt. He looks to his right, and sees a crumpled up David Rose, halfway down the hill.

_Fuck._

He makes quick work of undoing his snowshoes, scaling the hill to make sure David is okay.

He touches a tentative leather mitten to scratchy, grey wool.

“David, you okay?”

David peeks up at him, mouth wobbling, eyes brimming with tears. He slowly shakes his head. Only now, up close, does he notice the lost time on David. His trembling jaw is wider, the hint of five o’clock shadow peeking through. David’s eyes look a little worn out, almost hollowed.

“No,” he tries to say, but no air comes out.

Patrick reaches out for him, but David’s hands fly up, creating a solid distance between them.

“Don’t touch me!” His words are acid. Acid in the form of saltwater tears. Patrick flinches and holds himself back. 

“You weren’t listening to me,” David whispers. “Roland told us how to properly go down hills before you showed up.” David wipes his face, pink fingers peeking out of black leather. He looks back at Patrick, hurt and angry. His voice gains more strength than Patrick expects.

“You need to listen to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This sledding/snowshoeing incident may or may not have happened to yours truly.


	4. Homework

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reading, sewing, and talking about Sebastien

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like this chapter a lot! We get into making mukluks (an indigenous word for winter boots).
> 
> All the kudos to my beautiful beta fishyspots. (Go read their work after this!)

**CHAPTER 4: Homework**

“So it’s not cold-induced asthma like you suspected?” Rachel asks, biting into her blueberry muffin.

David sighs dramatically, planting his face into his copy of _As You Like It._ He groans, the sound muffled by the pages, which only makes Rachel giggle. 

“No,” he says defeatedly, lifting his head. They’re sitting across from each other in Café Tropical, trying to finish Ray’s latest English assignment. As much as they both love books, it’s not going all that well. David puts his elbow on the table and rests his chin in his hand. He frowns. Rachel looks tired, where she’s sitting across from him. (She’s tired of studying, but she’s definitely not tired of David.)

“We did a full chest examination and I even showed the doctor my WebMD search history,” David explains. Rachel raises her eyebrows in silent judgment of his mention of internet resources.

David sighs, picking up his half-finished mug of caramel macchiato. “So yeah, anxiety strikes again.” He smiles wanly, taking sudden interest in his cuticles. 

Rachel leans back in her chair, contemplating him as she takes another bite of her muffin. 

She covers her mouth, too anxious to wait until she’s finished chewing to ask, “So you lost control of the sled, and it just happened?”

David nods sullenly and takes a sip of his coffee. He doesn’t really want to explain (again) how he ended up in a twisted heap in the snow, thanks to his ex-boyfriend being stubborn. Rachel is accustomed to her younger brother’s meltdowns, so a panic attack isn’t necessarily something she needs full details about — she knows the value of David’s privacy. Thankfully, before she has to find something new to chat about, Twyla drops by their booth. Rachel’s eyes light up, which David thinks is a very cute look for her. 

Twyla squeezes her shoulder, then turns to smile at David. “How you guys doing? Can I get you anything else?” 

“How about a better edition of this play?” David snarks, holding up his _well-loved_ assigned paperback. “The annotations are repulsive.”

“Or,” Rachel says warmly, leaning forward onto the table. She bats her eyelashes up at Twyla. “You could just clock out and join us?”

Twyla blushes, fiddling with her apron. “My shift ends in fifteen, but I can bring you a meadow harvest smoothie as motivation in the meantime?”

Rachel smiles and bobs her head, which sends Twyla off to throw god-knows-what in the blender. (Rachel’s the only one that likes the smoothies from Café Tropical.) 

David and Rachel bury themselves in their work, googling every other line in the text and watching video clips for context. David might never admit it aloud, but he _loves_ getting lost between the pages of books. Especially poetry. It’s a subjective puzzle that he gets to uncover all by himself. He looks up at Rachel, remembering the nights they used to spend at Patrick’s. 

When they had to go back to Elmdale High after the outdoor school semester ended, Rachel always dropped Patrick and David off on her way home. David would sit in the backseat and hold the hand Patrick held out to him from the passenger seat in the front while Rachel blasted something like _Delicate Cycle_ through the speakers. When the weather got warmer, David and Patrick spent whole afternoons in the treehouse. David can still remember reading Richard Siken aloud with Patrick’s head in his lap and a hand in his boyfriend’s curls, unpacking the brilliant use of free verse. He can remember the exact weight of the paperback and the feel of Patrick’s hair under the pads of his fingers. He can still see the way that Patrick gazed up at him, absorbing every word.

David shakes the memory off. (Besides, Patrick decided to chop all his curls off again in David’s absence.) (Incorrect.) It feels different now that David’a a senior — he has to dedicate way more time to studying. Who knew two years could be that quick of a turn around. 

Rachel tosses her book onto the table and takes a big gulp of meadow harvest.

“Okay, I’ve had enough of Shakespeare for one day.” She bites her lip and looks David in the eye, unsure if he’ll like what she’s about to say. He leans back in his seat, making a show of folding his arms across his chest. David Rose is putting on armour. He needs Rachel to spit it out already. 

“Can you tell me about Sebastien?”

***

“I don’t know what you want me to tell you, except that he’s an asshole who once offered to take Polaroids of me naked,” Stevie grimaces, eyes trained on the elk hide and sinew bunched in her lap. She’s much better at sewing than Patrick, even though he _thought_ that his fine motor skills from guitar playing would transfer to a talent with needle and thread.

Patrick looks up from his own pile of fibres. He’s sitting on the office couch because he decided to spend his Saturday visiting Stevie at work. There’s only one check-in at the motel today, so Stevie has allowed him to “hang out” so she can tutor him on how to finish his mukluks. Turns out winter semester is _hard,_ and involves things Patrick’s not good at. Like _sewing._

He pulls on the sinew with his triangular needle, trying to tighten his pucker stitch while staring Stevie down. 

“Ow!” He yelps when he accidentally pokes himself in the finger.

Stevie chuckles. “Helpful hint: maybe watch what you’re doing when you’re holding a pointy thing.”

Patrick clenches his jaw and tosses his project aside for the time being. (Trip is in a week. He’s got time, right?) “You were telling me about Sebastien,” he says pointedly.

“Right,” Stevie nods, not looking up. She’s in the beginning stages of her second mukluk already. She pushes her needle halfway through the hide, then decides to give Patrick the eye contact he’s been waiting for.

“Like I said, he’s an asshole.” Stevie shrugs.

Patrick’s eyes are screaming. He might actually start screaming too, soon. “And?”

“ _And_ ,” Stevie echoes, rounding out her stitch, “from my understanding, he was basically sleeping with half that fancy art school without telling David about it. Then he denied it. And would gaslight him whenever he presented a new work in class.”

Patrick shakes his head and crosses his arms over his chest. “That’s ridiculous. David is a brilliant artist.”

“Mhm,” Stevie busies herself with her work.

It’s quiet for a minute until she realizes that Patrick still hasn’t picked up his sewing. He’s _still_ shaking his head, jaw clenched. She abandons her second mukluk, walks over to him and flops onto the couch. Then she props herself up with an elbow, blinking patiently at Patrick, her second-most-stubborn friend.

“Anything else you’d like to share with the class, Brewer?”

Patrick tips his head back to avoid the eye contact he had been desperately seeking. He stares up at the stained motel ceiling and scrubs a hand over his face. He still can’t look at Stevie.

“It just doesn’t make any sense. I mean, why would someone treat him like that? The guy is clearly a _monster._ Why didn’t David just leave him?”

Any hint of emotion drops off of Stevie’s face. She’s stone cold, eyes cutting right through Patrick. 

“Right, because we all know how easy it is for David Rose to _just leave_.”

That hurts. That hurts a hell of a lot. 

“Stevie,” his voice wavers. “I didn’t mean —“ Patrick opens his mouth, but the words aren’t there. 

Stevie’s eyes soften. She brings her feet up on the couch and hugs her knees, trying to make it clear that she’s listening. At the same time, he sees himself sitting on David’s bed at the country house and watching him angrily fold his knits with delicate fingers He hears David say that he needs some _space_ and _time away_ because this has really messed things up for him. 

Since that day, Patrick has really only been able to cry in front of Rachel (and his parents). (There was way too much crying in front of his parents.) But now, Stevie’s quiet withdrawal is somehow pulling more tears out of him. He thought he had healed from this. He thought he had gotten over him. Turns out, Patrick still has a lot of unlearning to do.

His mukluks can wait for another day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Delicate Cycle is a song by The Uncluded and Kimya Dawson. 
> 
> Taking questions/prompts on tumblr if you want to keep hanging out in outdoor school with me :)


	5. Would We Call it a Going Away Party?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The quintessential high school house party scene

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit angsty, with a little bit Alexis... I'm so sorry y'all are in pain! I didn't think this was a slow burn, but seeing as this is my first time publishing slowly vs all at once, there's a lot more suspense than I initially intended! Hang in there ❤️
> 
> CW: underage drinking and references to prescription drug abuse. 
> 
> beta'd by fishyspots 👑

**CHAPTER 5: Would We Call it a Going Away Party?**

Alexis walks into his room without knocking, which has unfortunately become a habit for her. 

“David, have you seen my mask?” She pouts, eyes scanning all of the flat surfaces in the room. (As if David would steal his sister’s facial peel and keep it in plain sight.) (It’s not like they have the same skin type anyway.)

David doesn’t look up from his bed. He’s in the process of neatly rolling up his wool knits, revisiting the art of delicately shoving his belongings into a duffel. “Why would I take your mask? My face is normally dewy and blemish free.”

It’s been weird having the whole family stuck in one place. Especially when that place is the country house. He remembers coming here with Alexis and Adelina when he was little, back when his sister went through her horse phase. He remembers his dad making him stay here for a week while he formed a difficult merger with CBC. But when he lived here by himself two years earlier, this place became something of a sanctuary. He knew every creak of the stairs and exactly how long he had to wait before the water got hot. Not to mention the house’s location on a private road, which allowed him to blast Mariah whenever he wanted, no matter the room he was in. 

Now, the house is _buzzing_ at all hours. Alexis is notoriously messy, leaving her things in every room but the one they belong in. His mother rarely leaves the wig room — whenever she surfaces, she just looks up pictures of herself or creeps on the Sunrise Bay chat forum on the old desktop computer in the living room. And his dad is usually pacing and pointing out everything that’s wrong with the house but refusing to be a “cheap ass” and fix it himself. 

In the Before Times (which is the term David’s using for “when we didn’t care about money”), David drove Patrick home after classes at Schitt’s Creek ended. When it was warm enough, they’d bundle up on the porch swing, and David would teach Patrick how to hold his graphite pencil properly and how to add depth and dimension into a landscape. (Even Patrick’s trees needed work. He used to draw two parallel lines, topped with a puffy cloud. _Incorrect.)_ When it got colder, they’d make hot chocolate over the gas stove (Patrick would make it, and David would watch) and get no more than halfway through a Sandra Bullock vehicle. They _always_ went back to the country house because it was closer to Schitt’s Creek. They only ever went back to Patrick’s once they were back at public school, and when they did, they _only_ ever hung out in his treehouse.

“David,” Alexis calls from his window seat. Her hands reach for David’s finished mukluks, which are baking next to the heater. “Are these the cute little booties you’ve been making?” 

David jerks up from his immaculate, compact duffel and races over to her. 

“Give it here!” He reaches for them. Alexis smells like nail varnish and he does _not_ want _any_ traces of acetone getting on the freshly oiled elk hide. She smiles teasingly and pulls the pair out of his reach.

“Chill, David, I’m just looking.” David purses his lips and squeezes his hands into fists. He wants to say _be gentle,_ but he doesn’t need to see his younger sister be her over-judgmental self about a fashion choice that he didn’t get to make. (It’s not a fashion choice. It’s been a week of sitting with an Anishinabek elder in the fireside room and sewing with his classmates while they listen to stories.) 

Alexis gives him a look that says, _see, I’m not hurting your precious slippers,_ (as if, Tamagotchi murderer) and turns the mukluks over in her hands. She looks down at the stiff white canvas in her palms, dyed meticulously with black ink. The design is like the silhouette of a forest, and the sky David created is just grey enough that she can parse out tiny white constellations speckled around the fabric. There’s more white coming up from the bottom of the design in whispery tendrils. Like a dancing mist.

Alexis’s voice is soft when she speaks next. “David, these are —“

“It’s my first major assignment,” he whispers, wringing his hands. “For art class, that is.” 

Thankfully, Alexis isn’t invested enough in his art to ask about the inspiration behind his decoration. She smiles in a quiet way, a silent apology for her potential mishandling. David takes the mukluks back and gently sets them back on the window seat.

“So I was thinking,” Alexis plays with her hair. She sits on David’s bed, any thoughts of doing a face mask now abandoned. “You and your cute little adventure classmates have been working really hard, and you’re probably like, feeling nervous about going camping in the arctic —“

“We are not going _that_ far north,” David crosses his arms and waits for her to arrive at her point.

“ _Anyway,_ ” Alexis says pointedly. “I really miss my life, and I haven’t been to a real party in ages,” Alexis shimmies her shoulders. 

David does not like where this is going.

“So what if we hosted, like, a tiny little rager here? Before you go on your camping thing?” She blinks up at him, full of hope and faux-innocence.

David pulls his chin back in disgust. “A _tiny_ little rager?”

A tiny little rager it is not. It’s a full-blown house party, complete with all of the senior outdoor school students, Alexis’s freshman Elmdale High friends ( _“I even invited Kelsey, David. She’s such a horse girl.”_ ), and most of the Elmdale swim team, because Ted invited them.

David walks through the house, holding a solo cup with the very tips of his fingers, and tries to find Stevie among the mess. Alexis has somehow forgotten that they can no longer afford cleaning services, so he’s counting on Stevie to stay over and help him in the morning. (At least he’s already finished packing for the trip. That’s one less thing for him to worry about.) He stops by the living room, where Ted and Miguel have abandoned the game of Twister in favor of a push-up competition. It’s certainly a sight to see. Most of David’s classmates are piled on top of each other on the couches, either engrossed in Ted and Miguel’s athletics or chatting drunkenly among themselves. (Tennessee brought something called cone wine, and it is _not_ pleasant.) He heads to the kitchen, where Rachel is sitting up on the counter, eyes closed and mouthing along to the music that’s currently shaking the frame of the house. (There’s a guy from Alexis’ class who offered to DJ, and he is certainly no Diplo.) Twyla is standing next to Rachel, busy washing the dishes.

“Twy!” David leans on the kitchen island. “What are you doing?” 

Twyla smiles and shrugs. “This is just like a Sunday dinner at my house, so dishes are my go-to. Why, did you want me to stop?”

David stutters, kind of speechless. Sometimes he forgets how weirdly awesome his friends are. He shrugs and grabs a tea towel, then joins her by the sink to start drying. He might as well get a head start on tomorrow’s work, anyway. Rachel snorts as she watches them. He hears a couple thuds from behind him, then feels someone crash into his back. His hands fly up defensively.

“Oops,” Stevie giggles from behind. She’s opted for dark skinny jeans and a leather jacket, and she looks _very_ good. Somehow, miraculously, she didn’t spill the contents of her solo cup on his sweater.

David groans. He throws down his tea towel and puts a hand on his hips. “Where have you been?”

“Oh, I was outside,” Stevie’s lips dance as she takes another gulp of beer. 

David raises his eyebrows, effectively calling out her bullshit.

“So there was a guy.”

Twyla gasps and claps her hands. Even Rachel leans in to hear what Stevie has to dish.

“His name is Emir, and he’s in the auto class back at boring, regular high school.”

“Uh huh,“ David’s smirking now. He needs the full story. 

“And,” Stevie looks pointedly at David. “He brought _Jake_ with him.”

Rachel sighs, hopping off the counter and grabbing Twyla’s hand. “C’mon, babe. I think they’re playing _Never Have I Ever_ in the living room.” She drags her confused but enthusiastic girlfriend by the hand from the kitchen. She doesn’t want to hear where the rest of this conversation goes. 

“What are you doing?” David cocks his head. 

Stevie shrugs, face softening. “Just thought maybe you’d want to send a signal. Show Patrick what he’s missing out on.”

“With _Jake?”_

“Of course with Jake. You know that he doesn’t give a fuck.”

David sighs and contemplates his options. This party was already super boring because he’s spent most of it worried about cleanup. David should be drunk by now. It’s been a while since he’s allowed himself to let go completely. 

It started back in New York. Back when he switched out his meds for his mom’s much higher dosage. Then he started getting creative. But only once in a while — only when the buzzing in his head got really, _really_ bad. He took himself too seriously to show up to a prestigious art school high as a kite every day. He’d love to have just this one night. Just one night to throw his hands up and forget how sad his life had become. David _needed_ it, craved it. And if hooking up with a random at this party could help him forget _,_ then he’d add that to the plan. And Jake was sure as hell going to be a part of that plan.

***

Patrick takes a deep breath, eyes locked on the steering wheel. He’s been sitting in his parked car for at least twenty minutes and debating whether or not to actually go inside. It’s not as if he had a hard time getting here. He could drive to Rosewood (yes, _Rosewood_ , because it was the only house on this street) with his eyes closed, but he can’t get past the feelings from the last time he was here. It was downright painful. 

David had asked him to leave, tears in his eyes, while the sun went down on the country house. Patrick had done it without question. He drove home, zombified, and went right upstairs to his room. He’d ignored his perplexed parents’ gazes from the kitchen and slammed the door behind him. Stevie was right, David _had_ left them, but Patrick had forgotten that he’d been asked to do the same thing. He wonders if he’s even welcome back here. 

“Fuck it,” he says to himself. Then he pushes the car door open and practically throws himself out onto the icy asphalt. (Never gravel, or so he’s been told. Not with Mrs. Rose’s precarious footwear.)

A handful of people are scattered around outside, solo cups in hand. Some are laughing and drinking, and others are just taking a breather in the chill February air. He recognizes Ken from the swim team, who smiles and waves at him.

“Patrick! I didn’t think I’d be seeing you here tonight.” Ken stumbles up to him with a lazy smile on his face. His glasses are fogging up in the cold air. Ken is cute. Patrick knows this, because he’s one of the only other out queer athletes at Elmdale High, so they’ve kept tabs on each other. (They may have also gone on a date shortly after David moved away, but Patrick just wasn’t ready for that at the time.) 

Patrick smiles thinly. “Hey, man. How’s the party?” Small talk. He can do this.

Ken brushes Patrick’s arm. “Pretty great, now that everyone’s here.” 

_Oh._ Oh no.

Patrick panics and mumbles something about wanting to go find Rachel. He walks through the front door, and is hit by a wall of sound. There’s singing and shouting coming from down the hall. He shrugs off his coat. Everyone has thrown their things in a messy lump over the banister, so there’s no way of telling whose is whose or where they’ll find it when they head home for the night. Patrick just hangs onto his jacket — he won’t stay for very long. He’s not even sure why he came in the first place.

He wanders through the front hallway and sees a few people playing a very rowdy game of Twister (no thank you). He also sees an empty kitchen, with clean dishes in the drainboard. Twyla must’ve done that, which means that she and Rachel can’t be far off. He turns toward the dining room.

There’s a half wall separating the room, so it’s a little quieter in there. Twyla and Rachel are cuddled up in the corner, and Rachel’s running her fingers through Twyla’s hair. They’re babbling on about tarot cards. It’s almost too intimate, too sweet for Patrick to interrupt. This is why he’s glad that Stevie’s part of their friend group, because there’s nothing worse than third-wheeling for your best friend when you’re heartbroken. 

Twyla notices him first. “Patrick! I didn’t think you were going to come.” 

Rachel whips her head toward him Her jaw drops, then twists into an amused smirk. “You wore your party shirt,” she says.

Patrick shrugs, his arm that’s not holding a jacket coming up to grip his elbow. He frowns. “So?”

Rachel turns back to Twyla. “I might be gay, but aren’t his arms just amaaaazing?”

Twyla giggles and nods, which just makes Patrick chuckle. He feels like he’s interrupting, and he doesn’t want to be a bother. He gestures with his coat, trying to show that he’s going to find a place to hang it up. Twyla jumps up and stops him.

“Wait, I think Alexis said there’s more room for coats upstairs.” She turns back to Rachel and smiles, but it’s a little disturbing. “Right, Rach?”

Rachel’s eyes widen, and she hurries closer to both of them. “Right,” Rachel takes his hand and guides him back toward the staircase, like a woman on a mission. _What the hell is happening?_

Rachel hasn’t been to the country house as many times as Patrick, so when she opens the first door on the second floor, thinking it’s an empty bathroom, they find blush pink walls and _Ted_ making out with some blonde girl. Though they’ve never met in person, Patrick is pretty sure that it’s David’s younger sister. (It is — Twyla can confirm.) Good for Ted. Rachel opens door after door, determinedly looking for something in this unspecified game of hide-and-seek. 

Patrick sighs and walks up to the last room, the one she hasn’t tried. His breath catches. Patrick knew exactly what he was doing, stepping into this room, but it didn’t prepare to hit him as hard as it is right now. 

The bedspread is still the same, and Patrick’s fingers itch to trace the clean black and white blocking and that stupid little throw pillow. The cedar chest sits at the foot of the bed, and a neatly packed duffle bag rests on top, ready to be stowed on a school bus in two days’ time. Even the artwork on the wall hasn’t changed: a series of Stevie’s charcoal sketches she submitted for her art final two years ago are still neatly ordered. They’re mounted with black frame because the silver Patrick suggested had been _too corporate_ . Everything is the same, right down to the patchouli candle sitting on the bedside table and the bookshelf organized thematically. ( _“I can’t put James Baldwin anywhere near Lewis Carroll. What am I, a_ monster _?”_ ) He sniffs, chin wobbly, sinking into the window seat.

“I really miss him.” He lifts his head to see Rachel and Twyla gazing back at him. 

Twyla takes a seat beside him and rests her head on his shoulder.

“I liked it a lot better when you were together,” Twyla sighs. 

Patrick nods. He keeps his eyes on Rachel. He wonders if she could provide an instruction manual on how he could possibly make his way back to loving David. This time, in the way that David deserved.

“Do you think he would ever take me back?” He asks her. Rachel opens her mouth, but her eyes drift to the window. Patrick turns, following her gaze. 

The outside light is on, so they can see the trees littered throughout the backyard, leading into a wide expanse of open field. Patrick can’t quite see what caught Rachel’s eye. But then, all of a sudden, he does. 

David is pressed up against a tree, sans coat, with his arms wrapped around a very sturdy, tall lumberjack. Their heads are pressed together. _Lips_ together. (Fucking _Jake,_ always down for anything.) Patrick rips himself from the window seat and rushes out of David’s bedroom. He needs to go home, _now._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pack your duffel bag and snowshoes, we're leaving for winter trip!


	6. Heavy on the Footwork

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winter trip is off to a great start... maybe not so much for Patrick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We made it to winter trip! Did David pack enough sweaters? Is Patrick's foot still bothering him? Most importantly... Will Bob the Bus Driver play something that's not ABBA??? 
> 
> We shall see! 
> 
> Beta'd by fishyspots

**CHAPTER 6: Heavy on the Footwork**

David stares at the yellow school bus and wonders if Bob the Bus Driver still has his ABBA CD collection. (He really hopes not.) His fingers wrap around his thermos. There’s no turning back now. If he’s forgotten a layer, then fuck it. David Rose will just have to be freezing cold for the next five days. 

His dad sighs from the driver’s seat, rubbing his eyes. 

“Son, as much as I didn’t anticipate having to drive you to school at this early hour —“

“Well, our family only has one car now, so.” David’s fingers wave in the air, as if he’s trying to fill in the blanks. The subtext being, _what other option did we have._

The corners of Johnny Rose’s mouth turn down in a sad smile. “I was going to say how proud I am of you. You know your mother and I didn’t know what you were thinking when you first came to school here —“

“Okay. I was under the impression that it was a _specialized art program_ , which was _correct_. I just didn’t expect the outdoorsy part.”

“I know that, and I wanted to say I’m sorry,” Johnny nods. “We weren’t there for you when you needed us. We weren’t even there for you when you transferred back to New York.”

David nods, remembering.

“All I’m saying is, regardless of what our family’s gone through, I hope being back here makes you happy.”

David inhales sharply. He’s not used to having heart-to-hearts with his father, and this may have exceeded his daily emotions capacity. Especially at this early hour. 

He makes a graceful exit from the car, duffel bag in one hand and coffee in the other. He nods good morning to Roland, smiles at Bob the Bus Driver (it’s closer to a grimace), and searches for Stevie. At this point, David Rose is on autopilot. Unfortunately, Patrick hadn’t shown up to the party, so Stevie’s grand plan of making him jealous just landed David a casual and quick makeout session with Jake. 

David and Stevie could pass for fraternal twins, with their matching large coffees and dark sunglasses. He slides in beside her, whispers “good morning,” and nods when she grunts at him. It’s like they’re made for each other.

“Thanks again for helping me clean up yesterday,” he says. His eyes are trained on the door to the bus. He’s waiting for a certain someone to board.

“Don’t mention it,” Stevie shrugs, pushing her coat against the window to form a makeshift pillow. “Spent the rest of yesterday recovering, but I think Patrick’s doing worse than I am.”

David takes another gulp of coffee and grimaces as it goes down. “Why’s that? He didn’t show the other night.”

“Oh, but he did,” Rachel walks up the aisle of the bus and slides into the seat in front of David and Stevie. She adjusts her knitted headband, eyes sunken, waiting for David to respond. 

David is still processing, but Stevie’s eyes are on fire.

“Shit, really?” She asks.

Rachel bites her lip and nods tiredly. “He spent all of yesterday talking my ear off about it.”

Stevie grimaces. “Drunk me might have given David that idea.” 

Rachel signs _thank you_ to Stevie, though she’s unimpressed. (It’s fine. She’ll be fine. She just wishes she had time for a bath bomb yesterday rather than comforting Patrick in between watching Broadway bootlegs.)

“Speak of the devil,” Stevie whispers, which prompts David to slide down comically in his seat.

Patrick puts on a winning smile, raising his voice a little, because he knows he can be an asshole. “Morning, David!” He walks down the aisle, passing his duffle bag to Ronnie, then comes back and grabs a seat beside Rachel. “Boy, I’m just so excited for this trip. We’re going to have so much fun together.”

“Could you have more fun a few octaves lower?” Stevie deadpans.

“Nope.” Patrick’s lips pop on the _P_ sound. 

David rolls his eyes, sinking lower into his seat. Since when did this become a game of antagonizing each other? David is not having any fun. 

“Wake me when we get there,” David whispers to Stevie, pulling a new toque from Twyla over his head. 

Stevie rolls her eyes and pulls her knees up to her chest so that she’ll have something to rest her head on. She glances at Rachel, and the two of them share a long, confused, tired look. 

Their boys can’t be like this forever. Something’s gotta give.

“Alright everybody, looks like this bus is ready to go,” Ronnie calls from the back, having finished packing all the gear. Bob the Bus Driver announces they’ll be starting the drive with his favourite “K” artists, Kenny G and Kanye, in honour of Gwen.

David’s last thought before he drifts off is that the way the sun glints off of the head of auburn hair in front of him is pretty, and also _who the fuck is Gwen?_

***

Patrick is in pain. A lot of pain. Though he’s very proud of having his mukluks finished before the bus ride out to Algonquin Park, they are not suitable footwear for walking in snow with a (recovering) foot injury. The beauty of these shoes is that you can feel everything on the soles of your feet, which might be nice for people who enjoy going barefoot. Patrick Brewer is _not_ a barefoot kind of person. They’ve been on the trail for about twenty minutes — or maybe it’s been an hour. (It’s hard to tell when none of them are allowed to bring a watch.) He and Ted have been trudging along a few metres behind the rest of the class. It doesn’t help that Ted is yammering on about _Alexis_ , and about how he is trying to convince her to do their volunteer hours together at the seniors centre. 

“Sorry. Ted. Can we stop for a sec?” Patrick pants and leans on the push stick from the back of the sled. Ted turns around, stunned.

“Of course, bud. I’d to- _bargain_ we can stop for a minute or two.” Ted winks, gesturing at the sled sitting between them.

Patrick grimaces and masks the shooting pain in his foot with his displeasure at Ted’s puns. “Not your best work, man.” 

Ted shrugs. “Worth a shot. Toboggan is a hard one.” He glances down to where Patrick is trying to stretch his foot. 

“Fall musical still bugging you, huh?”

Patrick presses his lips together and avoids his sled partner’s gaze. He doesn’t have time to respond, because Ronnie is jogging down the path towards them and calling their names.

“Gentlemen,” she stops and puts her hands on her hips. Her wool sweater is tied around her waist, and she’s breathing somewhat heavily in long-sleeved Under Armour and a neck warmer. 

“As nice as it is to see this trailside chit chat, I’m going to need you to get a move on so you’re not left to your own devices when we have to cross the lake.”

Ted bobs his head in understanding. “Sorry Ronnie, Patrick’s foot injury was just acting up.” 

Patrick tries to scream at Ted with his eyes, because the last thing he needs is to be identified as a weak link. 

Ronnie turns to face him, and she’s got her _take no bullshit_ look pasted on her face. “Okay Brewer, get in the sled.”

“What?” Patrick gasps. No. No no no no. He will not be _pulled_ by his _teacher_ all the way to camp.

But for all that Patrick Brewer is stubborn, he is also injured. Putting up any more of a fight will just make things worse. 

Ronnie signals for Ted to take Patrick’s place in the back and slings the tumpline across her front like a seatbelt. Patrick slumps down to release his mukluks from the binding on his snowshoes and then climbs clumsily into the sled. His back scrapes against a tent stove on top of a wanigan, and his legs are spread out over duffel bags. He pulls his snowshoes into his lap. 

Ronnie grips the leather tumpline and starts pulling the sled at twice the speed they were going before. She mumbles something about transferring Patrick to a sled with a lighter load when they catch up to the others.

When they finally catch up to the group (Patrick hadn’t realized _just_ how far away they were), he has to do what can only be described as a walk of shame. (Except his ass is firmly planted in the sled, so it’s more of a slide of shame.) Though he and Ronnie have their differences, she’s respectful enough to avoid bringing extra attention to his situation and the way that he’s getting pulled around like some arctic princess. 

The classes gather in a small clearing that leads into a forest with _hills._ (In retrospect, it’s a good thing he stopped walking before the trail became any more cumbersome.) He tries to duck away from the sad and sympathetic looks of his classmates. Ronnie parks the sled, then walks over to a group of students and passes out bags of trail mix. 

Patrick focuses on the snowshoes in his lap and fiddles with the lamp wick that once bound his feet to them. Maybe he just needs one day of rest, and then he can get back to snowshoeing? He hears an exasperated _“_ What? _Why?”_ from the conversation Ronnie is having with his classmates. 

Great. The last thing Patrick needs is to burden his friends.

“Fine!” Patrick hears a frustrated voice, then the gentle crunching of elk hide in snow coming toward him. His eyes land on a beautiful pair of mukluks, with intricately dyed black and white canvas. _Oh no_. He rakes his gaze up to find a disheveled David Rose, arms crossed over his chest.

“ _Apparently,_ I have a load light enough to carry a person.” David is a combination of frustrated and fond. (Probably more of the former, Patrick guesses.)

Patrick Brewer sits on a pile of duffel bags and gazes up at the monstrous old-growth forest that towers over him. He hasn’t been this low to the ground out in the bush since his family tried to sleep under the stars on their summer canoe trip. (It was too overcast to see any stars, but still beautiful.) So far, he and David haven’t said a word to each other. Patrick is _impressed._ David may be grunting his way through it, but he’s pulling them along at a steady pace. And he’s doing it all with no one at the rear to help keep momentum or provide resistance going down hills. He took off his peacoat when they set off into the forest. When Patrick’s not looking up at the trees, he can stare dead ahead. David’s rolled up his knit crewneck, exposing forearms encased snugly in black merino. His wool pants are also _very_ form fitting. Between this and the view of the snowy treetops, perhaps being pulled on a sled isn’t _that_ bad. 

“You could’ve told me you were injured,” David calls, breaking the silence between them. 

Patrick shrugs, even though David hasn’t looked back at him since they loaded up the sled. “I didn’t want it to be a big deal,” he calls back weakly.

David grunts and tugs a little harder on the tumpline. He’s silent for a beat, then stops walking. David turns around and grabs his water bottle from the satchel slung across his body. He bangs it against the rudder, trying to loosen any ice that may have frozen the twist cap, then raises it to his lips.

“I know the feeling,” David says flatly, quirking an eyebrow at Patrick before taking a long drink of water. 

Patrick watches a loose bead of water trail down to David’s jawline, then to where his Adam’s apple is bobbing. He’s forgotten how much he likes David like this. Unhinged, and forgetting how many fucks he gives. For some reason, he’s more at ease than Patrick is on trip this time around.

Patrick frowns and looks up at David through his eyelashes. “How did you do it?” 

As if that encapsulates all Patrick wants to know. How did David survive on a canoe trip, of all things, riddled with anxiety and completely out of his element? How did he get past something that was anchoring him down and challenging him to fail, especially when it seemed so goddamn easy to everyone else in their class? How did a rich city kid get dropped into a school where he didn’t know anyone and had to prove himself? And how did he still come out on top, with everyone in love with him? And how could David do something like that, like all of those things, then pack up and get out like it was nothing? 

David gazes skyward, finally taking a moment to look at their surroundings. He twists his water bottle closed, then tosses it into Patrick’s lap. 

He shrugs. “Someone told me to focus on the path in front of me.” He quirks an eyebrow. 

David’s eyes stare coldly at Patrick, but his mouth twists into a knowing smile. He bends down to pick up the discarded tumpline, and suddenly they’re off again. Patrick hesitates before taking a sip from David’s water bottle. 

He can’t believe he forgot how good a person David Rose is. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're talking, right?? RIGHT? 
> 
> Find me on tumblr @kindofspecificstore and I'll tell you how Patrick's winter trip experience was nothing like mine. (And by that I mean it was exactly the same.)


	7. Frozen Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The clouds have cleared and the stars are out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hi! I have a busy week ahead of me, so I'll be posting the last three chapters more quickly. This chapter was probably the hardest and easiest to write... I don't know what else to say except I'm very happy to be sharing. A fun little detail from this chapter: bannock is a bread that doesn't rise, so it's easy to make while camping. Boy have I had a lot of it in my life.
> 
> UPDATE: dairaliz aka ohhalesyeah on tumblr made ART from this universe!!! I am still not over it. 
> 
> Virtual hugs to all of you who have been reading, commenting, and messaging me about this au. I'm still surprised people like living in this little world with me.
> 
> Beta'd by fishyspots, an absolute queen

**CHAPTER 7: Frozen Over**

It had been a long afternoon, especially because he was pulling a sled all by himself. Thank god he succumbed to wearing merino wool under-layers, because David was sweating up a storm underneath the dissolving clouds. He thought that he might have had another panic attack while they crossed over the frozen lake. Thankfully, his level concentration and the steady procession of his classmates in front of him allowed him to disregard any haunting thoughts about the thickness of the ice. It was actually quite beautiful out here. He didn’t realize how much he missed being out on the open landscape. He didn’t realize that he had actually _missed_ the outdoor part of outdoor school. (But no one needed to know that. Especially the dumbass sitting in his sled.)

Once they got to the site, they rushed to pitch the three massive a-frame Egyptian cotton tents before sundown. They lined the packed snow floor with balsam boughs. ( _Balsam boughs_. They were going to be sleeping on fucking _tree branches.)_ When the site was finally ready, there was no time for any kind of school work. Instead, Ray opted to give them an English lecture by the evening campfire.

He now stood before both classes, reading _As You Like It_ by the light of his head lamp. Ray kept gesturing with his free hand, and he lowered his book and made salacious facial expressions when a character said something extra juicy. (Which, in Ray’s eyes, happened at least every other line.) He takes a special liking to Rosalind, the heroine, and the way that she banters with Orlando. Ray reads, 

_“He was to imagine me his love, his mistress, and I set him every day to woo me; at which time would I, being but a moonish youth, grieve, be effeminate, changeable, longing and liking, proud, fantastical, apish, shallow, inconstant, full of tears, full of smiles; for every passion something, and for no passion truly anything, as boys and women are, for the most part, cattle of this color; would now like him, now loathe him; then entertain him, then forswear him; now weep for him, then spit at him, that I drave my suitor from his mad humor of love to a living humor of madness, which was to forswear the full stream of the world and to live in a nook merely monastic.”_

David watches in amusement as his teacher brings the play to life. He’d never tell his mother, but the writing on _Sunrise Bay_ doesn’t hold a candle to this, even if Ray’s one-man show delivery leaves something to be desired. Stevie leans over from where she’s sitting next to him and whispers, “Why do we have to sit through _your_ English class? Ray needs to bust out the Carole King already.”

David digs an elbow into her ribs to shush her. “Shh! Some of us have a test on this when we get back from trip.” 

Stevie smirks. “I wonder if Ronnie will do a dramatic reading about tax write-offs.”

David is confused. “What’s a tax write off?” He says, maybe a little too loudly.

Ray closes his copy of the play, turning his body towards David and Stevie. 

“ _So,_ the point I was making,” Ray smiles and takes the opportunity presented by David’s interruption to drive his point home, “is that there is a clear contrast between how Rosalind conducts herself in the city versus the Forest of Arden. The forest _frees_ her.” Ray flicks his wrists outward, _this close_ to doing jazz hands. “It allows her to let go of her inhibitions and confess her love. She goes beyond what’s socially expected. Now, I want you to ruminate on that. How does being in natural surroundings challenge or change you? Fun to think about, huh?” He gushes. Only Ray could be this excited about reading Shakespeare to a group of teenagers. 

Then it’s Ronnie’s turn to read to the class. She’s brought the memoir of a Labradorian nurse at the time of fur trading, and she reads a chapter about a snowshoe trip not unlike this one. The passage paints a picture of the woman trudging through a snowstorm, finding herself unable to go any further, and allowing her husband to carry her the rest of the way. David’s eyes drift across the fire to a familiar face. 

Patrick is listening to Ronnie intently. His eyes are unfocused as he stares into the flame of the campfire. He’s absentmindedly picking at his guitar. This look is familiar to David. He remembers a similar campfire in the Brewer's backyard, where Patrick avoided David and focused on the flames. Both of them had no choice but to sit and listen while his mom went on about _Rachel_... (Why did he need to be reminded of _that_ conversation right now?)

But this time Patrick must feel David’s eyes on him, because it only takes a moment for him to look up and hold his gaze. David raises his eyebrows as if to say, _does Ronnie's story_ _sound familiar to you?_ Patrick smiles sheepishly, in what David hopes is a silent apology for pushing himself too hard. Before his brain can stop his body, David feels the corners of his mouth twist into a soft smile. Maybe it’s the warmth of the fire. Maybe it’s the fatigue from the trek making him loopy. Maybe it’s dumb hope. Whatever it is, David feels something in his chest loosen—something that tells him that things might actually work out. It feels different this time.

***

The universe is mocking Patrick. Instead of working off his anxiety by spending the afternoon chopping firewood and helping set up the tent, he was ordered to continue sitting on his ass. He was still helping, in a way, by running lake water through a purification filter. _How fun._

Campfire was a good time, at least; however, he could’ve done without Ronnie pointedly reading about how to listen to your body and let others help you out or some bullshit. (Patrick Brewer has never taken criticism well.) 

Later on in the night, he’s sitting on top of Twyla’s sleeping bag and listening as she walks him through a basic knit stitch. They finished their round of dish duty a short while ago, but the tent is so warm and cosy with the stove. And Patrick is prohibited from going very far. He’s almost completed his first row when Twyla pipes up beside him.

“Y’know, I heard that the clouds finally cleared up. Did you want to go down to the lake?”

Patrick puts his knitting in his lap, confused. “Sounds great, Twy, but I think Ronnie will have a conniption if I try to walk down that hill.”

Twyla giggles and bats a hand at him. “Don’t be silly. I can take you down in one of the smaller sleds.”

Patrick frowns and thinks to himself. “But someone should stay here and watch the bannock,” he insists. 

David and Stevie had abandoned the stove a little while ago, and because Patrick is tent-bound, he assumes it’s now his responsibility. Twyla smiles. Her eyes are sparkling.

“There are more than a couple of minutes left. Besides, Rachel and I can watch it once I come back up the hill.”

“Ah,” is all that Patrick says. He doesn’t need any more information.

It only takes a few minutes for the two of them to put their snow gear back on and for Twyla to grab one of the sleds leaning against a nearby tree. When they get down the hill, there are surprisingly few students on the lake. Did people go back to the campfire? Now that he’s looking closer, there’s actually only _one_ person lying on the lake in their black and white mukluks. 

“Hey, David,” Twyla calls softly as she walks onto the frozen expanse. She’s pulling the sled (and Patrick) behind her.

David lifts his head and notices that there are actually _two_ people who have come down to join him. 

“I’m just dropping Patrick off,” Twyla says. “You’ll holler if you need help bringing him back up?”

If Patrick’s eyes could see through the dark, he’d see David’s eyes bulging out of their sockets. Twyla doesn’t give him any time to answer. Instead, she just says a quick, “Great, thanks,” before she turns around and heads back up the hill to camp. The forest surrounding the lake is dark, and bare spindly trees stand out against the blanket of white snow. Up the hill, Patrick can barely make out the three large tents. But he can still see their glowing amber through the spotty darkness.

Patrick twists his body and ignores David’s upturned head. He braces his hands on the ice below. He climbs delicately (though somewhat clumsily, damn those tree trunk legs) out of the sled and rolls onto his back. He settles in next to David. Their heads are only separated by a few feet when David finally lowers his to rest on the ice. 

Twyla was right. The clouds have completely dissipated. The stars span the entire length of the lake and seem to touch the tips of the trees. 

“Wow,” Patrick’s breath escapes from him in a rush. He hears a quiet chuckle from David.

“Yeah.”

Patrick squints. He feels the weight of his apology pressing down on him. “I think they may have planned this,” he mumbles.

David turns his head sharply to face Patrick. “Oh, you think so.” 

Patrick’s trying not to look at him, but he can tell there’s a lightness to David’s voice. He takes that as an invitation, but he still makes himself keep his eyes on the sky.

“I missed this so much,” he confesses. 

David hums beside him. 

Patrick takes another deep breath, and continues. “Did you? Miss it, I mean. When you went back?”

“I did,” David says, softly. He’s also breathing deeply. “New York has a lot of things. Good schools. Good art. _Fantastic_ pizza—“ 

Patrick chuckles at that. The many nights at the country house when they tried to make their own from scratch run through his head, almost without his permission. 

“But it doesn’t have stars,” David whispers into the night sky. 

A weight sinks in Patrick’s chest, and he wishes that the final caveat was, _and it doesn’t have you_.

“But it does have pretty people,” Patrick feels himself bite back. _Oops._ He doesn’t expect David to respond to that, but he does.

“Yes,” David says, voice tight. “Pretty people that are easy to hook up with. Pretty people who don’t care about anything.”

Now Patrick is the one who turns and looks at David. For the millionth time since they met, Patrick wants to force David to see what he sees. “But David, you care.”

David sniffs. “Uh huh. Too much, sometimes.”

Patrick keeps looking at him, and David keeps looking at the stars. The frozen water may be still, but Patrick imagines that they both feel a wave of sadness wash over them. They lay there in silence, and Patrick is unsure of where they should go next. Patrick is almost afraid of what he wants to ask him, but he _needs_ to know the answer.

“David, why did you leave?”

David sighs. “You know why.” He turns to Patrick, eyes glassy and brimming with tears.

“You guys were my safe place. I trusted you. I didn’t think I would be here for very long, but you and Stevie, Rachel, Twyla, _everybody—_ you made me feel like I wasn’t something that needed to be fixed.”

“Because you’re not _—_ “

“I’m not finished.” David holds up a finger. His face is clouded, and his eyes are flat. 

Patrick bites his lips and silently begs for him to continue.

“I give you all of me. One hundred percent. You FaceTime Alexis with me, and you sleep over at the country house. Then you keep taking me back to your treehouse, fucking _dangling_ me in front of your parents, and the whole time, every day, you don’t even tell me that you haven’t come out to them yet?”

_Fuck._

“You were so _open_ , so unapologetically you, when we were at Schitt’s Creek. But despite all of that, and despite all the ways I showed you that I was there for you, you couldn’t even be honest with me?”

David turns back to the stars and wipes away tears with his fingertips. Patrick feels his own eyes watering. 

“I wasn’t mad or disappointed that a part of you was still in the closet, Patrick. I would’ve even gone along with it for you _—_ if you asked. I just wish that you trusted me enough to share that information.”

The tears tracking down Patrick’s cheeks crystallize in seconds. “David, I did trust you,” his voice shakes. “I _do_ trust you. I knew that I had made a mistake the day you left my backyard. Even before the night I watched you pack up to leave.”

David is silent. Patrick hopes that David will listen to what he has to say. “David, when I got home my mom and dad found me crying up in my room, and it all just slipped out. About me. And you. What happened on canoe trip and everything since then. Everything was fine. It was great, even. I had nothing to worry about, but I thought that if I told you that, you’d tell me off about how wrong I was. I really didn’t want to make things worse,” Patrick tries to swallow the lump in his throat. He’s almost successful. “Then you were gone, and I was alone at Elmdale High. I watched you fall in love with other people.” He blinks and wishes that his body would dissolve into the lake.

Patrick feels something brush his mitten, then tightly squeeze it. David’s hand.

“I never fell in love with anyone else,” David whispers. 

Patrick feels something surge in his chest, and he rolls over onto his side. David is still facing skyward.

“David, I _—_ “

David bolts up, but still doesn’t look at him. “Fuck!”

He turns towards Patrick, eyes wild.

“I think I burnt the bannock.” David hurriedly climbs to his feet. “Stay here. I’ll tell someone to come get you!” He’s moving as fast as he can while keeping his balance on snow-dusted ice.

Patrick sits up and watches David scamper up the hill. He doesn’t know where they are, and he doesn’t have a clue what he should do next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ray's text is from Shakespeare's As You Like It, Act 3 Scene 2. The book Ronnie reads is Northern Nurse by Elliot Merrick. 
> 
> Well friends... looks like we found out what happened.


	8. Alone with Your Thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What the title says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we found out what happened between them, now they just have to make their way back to each other... I meant it when I said I'd be publishing the ending much faster! :P
> 
> Beta'd by fishyspots, all hail

**CHAPTER 8: Alone with Your Thoughts**

The bannock was only semi-burnt, at least. David and Stevie chiselled off enough of the char that it would still be edible. 

When night finally comes, the emotional exhaustion makes David completely knock out. When he wakes up to the chirping birds, he feels wrung out and hungover, but he’s warm. Very warm. He’s up against the fabric of the tent and the furthest away from the stove, so unless Ronnie was stoking the fire at all hours, he should be a little chilly right now. But he’s not. He rubs his eyes and tries to stretch, but then realizes he’s _locked in._

David’s back is pressed up against someone _—_ from top to tail. He glances down and sees a strong, pale arm and calloused hands. He knows those hands. _Oops._

He freezes and tries to keep his breathing steady as he assesses the situation. He knows that he and Patrick were assigned to the same tent, but he doesn’t remember his sleeping bag anywhere near his ex. He’s pretty sure that Stevie was supposed to be beside him. Did Stevie—no. _Would she?_ David doesn’t want the answer right now. 

Is Patrick awake? Did he make the conscious choice to spoon David right now, or did he just roll over in his sleep? He can’t just ask Patrick if he’s awake right now. What if he wakes up everyone else? What if they see him and Patrick _cuddling_ in their sleeping bags and assume they’re together? What if he and Patrick have to talk about it? Would they have to _pretend_ they’re dating to keep the peace and make sure it’s not awkward? No. That wasn’t an option. David wouldn’t let that be an option. It might break him to let Patrick just pretend and be all casual about it while he freaked out, wishing that Patrick loved him back. Did he just say love? _Fuck._

Half awake, or maybe completely asleep, Patrick must feel David spiralling, because he pulls David in closer. Patrick’s hand splays across the nylon sleeping bag and presses into David’s stomach. 

As much as David feels like he’s on the edge of a cliff, this is _really_ nice. He can feel small, steady puffs of air on the back of his neck, which tells him that Patrick is most likely, probably, hopefully, asleep. It’s been a long time since he’s fallen asleep in someone’s arms (about two years, actually), so he tells himself that he can enjoy this while it lasts. Patrick is steady and warm _,_ and David feels the safest he’s felt in a long, long time. Tennessee was right _—_ the balsam makes the tent smell absolutely magical. (It’s even better than the ten-foot Norwegian pine at last year’s Rose family Christmas.) He takes an easy breath and slowly reaches an arm out of his sleeping bag. If he moves slowly enough, maybe Patrick will stay asleep (of course he will, the boy has slept through thunderstorms). He puts his hand over Patrick’s and laces their fingers together. 

He can have this, if only for another minute. With Patrick’s warmth against him, he falls back asleep. It’s probably the deepest he’s slept in years.

Not much later, Ronnie woke the tent up with the sounds of the stove and the smell of coffee. (They’re almost adults now, so she says it’s okay if they drink it.) Today is a big day, and the class needs an early start. They have to pack lunch and a few supplies onto a sled, hike the path Ronnie’s charted, boil up (rig a tea kettle over a campfire), and send the kids out for solo time. 

Solos are David’s favourite part of trip, aside from stargazing. It’s a rare chance to be alone _—_ an opportunity to write, draw, or work out whatever is going on in his head. During canoe trip, he had taken a page out of Stevie’s book and used charcoals to sketch out Patrick, his back strong and sure at the helm of a canoe and surrounded by forest. (It made a great Christmas present. He wonders if Patrick kept it somewhere.)

When Ray drops him off in his designated spot, a moss-covered fallen tree in the middle of nowhere, David takes off his snowshoes and gracefully sinks down into his makeshift snow chair.

“I’ll see you in about an hour, David.” Ray beams. “I can’t wait to see what pieces come out of this.” He squeals and pumps his firsts in the air. He drops them just as suddenly, concern taking over his face. “No pressure, though. Don’t mean to rush the process. Unless you want to be rushed, in which case I could provide you with a short list of the different mediums I’d like you to use.”

David tries for a smile. “I’m fine. Thanks though.”

“You’re welcome,” Ray whispers excitedly. He hurries back toward the trail to assign the rest of the art class’s solo spots.

David stares up at the sky for some time and tries to figure out what he wants to draw. It’s less about putting pencil to paper and more about figuring out what the hell is going through his head. When he woke up for the second time that morning, Patrick was up and helping Ronnie with the pancakes and sausages. (David had four, and he has no regrets.) He doesn’t know if he should say something or if that would just make things more awkward then they already are. He thinks about what he wants. About what he told himself that he didn’t deserve once he stepped back on Manhattan pavement. 

He spun himself lies and convinced himself that Schitt’s Creek was a dream. That if he kept garbage people around, he could keep himself from caring too much. Keep himself from getting hurt. 

And now he’s back, the result of a choice that was out of his control. It’s emotional whiplash. 

And yet. Coming back to Schitt’s Creek feels a little like coming home. Even though he’s still riddled with discomfort, there’s been no other option but to keep moving forward. (Besides the fact that winter camping is much more preferable for his love of sweaters.) (Maybe that’ll be his opener when he sees his therapist next week.)

David’s instincts, that artistic itch, tell him to go back to what he knows. He reaches into his kit for a classic fine-point black marker pen. He doesn’t bother to start in pencil. (He won’t need to.) He starts on one tree, then another, until he has them all dotted in a semicircle. Then a lake, frozen over. He keeps drawing until his hand cramps. And then he keeps drawing.

***

Patrick’s been in his solo spot for the better half of the hour. He’s trying to come up with something for Ronnie’s journal prompt. But he can’t think about an arbitrary assignment right now. All his thoughts keep coming back to David. He woke up with his arms around him, still asleep, and quickly pulled himself away before anyone saw. Before David woke up. 

David.

David.

David.

He wants to wake up next to David again. He wants to spend afternoons studying at the cafe with him and their friends after trip. He wants to spend evenings at the country house together. He wants to take David home for dinner with his parents, this time with a proper introduction. David’s annoyingly prevalent in Patrick’s thoughts. He can’t get him out, so he decides to put pen to paper. (He can always rip it out later. Or keep it, just for himself.)

David.

David.

David.

Patrick doesn’t stop writing until Ronnie comes to get him. (He missed the first two times she called.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've stuck around this long, thank you thank you thank you. We're almost there! This series also comes with a mood board and playlist, so if you ever want to see anything more from this world do let me know!


	9. A Signal, Going Up Like Smoke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Homeward bound, with a whole semester ahead of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all. This story has meant so much to me, and it has brought me such joy to see people connecting with it. I am forever grateful for all the kudos, comments, and messages. (Not to mention the art, Daira!!!!)
> 
> I wanted to speed up my publishing schedule so I can get going on my work for Elevate Femslash (eep! i'm so excited for more sapphic content in this fandom!!) and today happens to be my day off... So here's a completed fic for ya!
> 
> To fishyspots, an absolute queen: thank you for cheering me on, for telling my comma usage to calm down, for getting so INVESTED in this world. I've never had some one beta my work before and you were everything and more.

**CHAPTER 9: A Signal, Going Up Like Smoke**

They suffer in limbo for three more days. It’s been three days of pulling sleds, stoking campfires, and stargazing in the middle of frozen lakes. Every day, David wakes up with Patrick’s sleeping bag pressed up against him, and successfully skirts around any awkward conversations. They talk about everything: the constellations, how to _not_ burn bannock, why Patrick should take up photography as a hobby given the unique perspective of being closer to the ground when he’s being pulled in a sled. It feels like they’ve talked about everything except their conversation on the first night. 

Though David is anxious to get home and wash this trip off of his body, he takes his time on the trek back to Bob the Bus Driver. He walks slowly, with intention, and takes in all the sounds and smells that make up the trails of Algonquin Park. The buzzing in his ears that started when they first arrived has since disappeared. (Thanks, New York noise pollution.) He had forgotten how _clean_ the air is out here, and how beautiful it can be when the sky is absolutely clear. (That, and Patrick decides to provide some travelling entertainment for the hike back in the form of absentmindedly picking on his guitar.) 

Every time he looks back at Patrick, just to make sure he hasn’t fallen off the sled, he’s gazing back with a shy, kind look. If it weren’t for the crispness in the air, maybe David’s cheeks would be pink from the attention.

They get to the parking lot a good five minutes after everyone else. Ray’s husband has driven up to meet them and pack the bigger sleds into their truck. Roland steps away from where he’s loading up the bus to saunter over. 

“Well boys, looks like you took the scenic route home.”

“I’d hardly call a parking lot home, but thanks for not leaving without us,” David quips.

Roland crosses his arms and nods. There’s a slight air of suspicion about him. “You boys didn’t happen to stop and admire some _green trees_ , did ya?” He raises his eyebrows. 

Patrick smiles, climbing out of the sled. “No sir, just letting David take his time.”

Roland sighs, almost disappointed, then motions them onto the bus. 

“What was that about?” David asks. He sets a slow pace towards the yellow monstrosity, making sure that Patrick can take his time and be kind to his foot.

Patrick shrugs. Whatever gets them on this bus and home in good time. 

They climb the bus and scan for empty seats. At this point, everyone has already filed in. People are taking off layers and trading mukluks back for winter boots to ensure the elk hide stays preserved. Compared to the neat, precise sorting of the bus on the way up, it’s now haphazard, thrown together just long enough to get back on the road. And every seat seems…taken. 

David sees Stevie about halfway back and makes his way to her. She’s by herself, but upon closer inspection, she’s surrounded by what seems like half the class’s duffle bags. She’s resting her back on them. 

“Hi.” David smiles thinly at her, expectant.

“Oh, hi,” she chirps back, uncharacteristically cheerful.

“Have all the seats been accounted for?” David’s eyebrows inch toward his hairline. (His hair has been a curly mess since day two of trip.)

“Unfortunately, yes,” Stevie says, saccharine. “However, you will find one free seat closer to the rear of the vehicle,” she points like a flight attendant. “It has a lovely foot rest of wanigans for your convenience.” 

“You sure about that?” Patrick says from beside David. His hands grip both sides of the leather seats.

A voice behind Stevie pipes up. “Oh, she’s sure.” 

It’s Rachel, leaning back in Twyla’s arms while Twyla leans against the window. Rachel smirks, and Twyla giggles into her shoulder. _Oh._

David looks back at Patrick, who just shrugs again, and gestures toward the back of the bus. True to Stevie’s word, there is in fact an empty seat, and the gap on the floor is indeed taken up by two of the wanigans. The seat directly across the aisle is the exact same, except there is a mountain of duffels stacked on top of the wanigans. _Fucking Stevie._

Patrick clears his throat. “After you, then?” (Was that a blush creeping in, or was he just wind-burnt?)

David sighs, reluctantly climbing into the Jenga puzzle. Patrick follows suit.

The wanigans push their feet and knees up so that they are contorted into a somewhat compromised position. 

“This is not a structurally sound configuration for napping,” David scoffs, which earns a small laugh from Patrick. 

“I’ll wake you when we get there,” Patrick smiles, eyes loud.

Despite his misgivings, David is able to nap. So is Patrick. Much like road trips they’ve taken in the past, they fall asleep with David’s head on Patrick’s shoulder. Both their bodies and brains are heavy.

  
  


Thanks to their unfortunate location in the back of the bus, the ride is especially bumpy. It jerks David awake roughly an hour in and makes him bang his head on the window.

“Ow!” David yelps. His eyes take in the sinking sun through the glass pane. How long had he been asleep for? There’s a tiny gasp from beside him.

“You okay?” Patrick half whispers, face riddled with concern.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” David rubs his head and stretches his neck. He notices that Patrick is still watching him out of the corner of his eye. “What?” He asks.

Patrick shrugs. (Again with the shrugging?) “Just wanted to make sure that you were okay.”

David nods. He’s unsure of where to take the conversation from here, and he knows that it would be too rude to simply turn his head and stare out the window. Besides, it seems like Patrick is waiting for him to say something.

“So, did you,” David clears his throat. “Did you enjoy winter trip?”

Patrick’s mouth quirks up at the corner. Either it’s the movement of the bus or the noise of other students, but Patrick seems to close more of the space (if there was any in the first place) between them. 

“I did, yeah. Besides not feeling like I was able to _do_ anything, it’s beautiful to get out in winter.”

David hums in agreement, and before he thinks, he can hear himself saying, “I, uh _—_ I finished some new pieces. When we were out on solos? Would you like to see them?”

Patrick’s face softens and takes on a glow in the dusk. “I would love that.”

David’s eyes fill with panic as he reaches for the sketchbook in his leather satchel. He can't remember the last time he showed Patrick his art. His fingers are frantic and shaky as he flips between pages. Finally, he pinpoints where his art from winter trip starts.

The first one is a red cardinal done in water colours. (David added the water colour paper with scotch tape because he is _not_ an animal.)

Then there are a few charcoal drawings of campfire embers. Next, an a-frame tent glowing in the night is done in coloured pencil. 

Then, there’s a fine line silhouette; it’s a landscape of the lake, littered with stars. Two tiny figures lie in the middle of its frozen expanse.

Patrick’s fingers dance a few inches above the page, because he knows that David prefers his art to be untouched. “Just like your mukluks. From when we were on the canoe trip,” he whispers.

David turns to him and nods slowly. “You noticed?” He asks, voice soft. 

Patrick stares at him and let’s David’s question hang between them. His eyebrows pull together. “David,” he says. But it’s too much for David _—_ he can’t look Patrick in the eyes right now. He shifts his attention back to his sketchbook and carefully closes it. 

He hears the sound of a zipper beside him, followed by the rustling of paper. A few pieces of loose leaf, neatly folded, slide onto his sketchbook cover.

“What’s this?” David takes the pages, turning them over in his fingers. He’s afraid to open the letter and discover its contents.

“I wrote it,” Patrick says, low and clear. “It’s for you. You don’t have to read it now _—_ you can read it when you’re ready. Or, you know, I’d understand if you wanted to throw it into a fire. But it’s there. Everything.”

“Everything?” David looks back at him, eyes filling with tears.

Patrick nods. “It kind of starts off as an apology, but it’s all there. Might even have turned into song lyrics at the end.” Patrick looks down at his hands and clenches his jaw. He lifts his gaze back to David, and looks at him through his eyelashes. “And if you get to the end and there’s more you want to know, you can just ask.”

David nods and stares at the letter. He can’t find the right words. Or any words. He finally looks back at Patrick, who’s blinking something out of his eyes. They’re quite a pair. 

“Patrick?” 

Patrick bites his lips. His beautiful, pink, chapped lips.

“Are you rooting for us?”

Patrick nods and wraps his hand around David’s, which is still holding the letter. He uses it as an anchor to pull David into his space, and then he reaches out with his other hand to hold David’s jaw. David hears a faint but firm whisper of _yes_ before registering Patrick’s lips on his. _Finally._

It’s been an incalculable amount of time between when Patrick gave David the letter, and where they are now: sprawled out across the length of the seat and squished in the back of the bus, kissing like they haven’t in, well, two years. To be exact. It hasn’t all been kissing, though. It’s been wiping the other’s tired eyes free of tears, running hands through unwashed curls, tracing unshaven jawlines, and whispering secrets to the soundtrack of Bob the Bus Driver’s evening selection of The Mamas and the Papas. 

There’s a knock on a nearby, stowed away sled, and an emphatic clearing of the throat makes both of them jump and sit up in their seats.

“You guys seem pretty busy.” Stevie raises her eyebrows, smug. 

“Why are you back here?” David practically snaps. Patrick reaches over and squeezes David’s thigh in an effort to calm him. (It doesn’t work, but the touch is most certainly welcome.) Stevie looks back at David, face kind but eyes full of mischief. 

“Roland got a call from your sister.” In that case, they must be getting closer to home. “She said it’s, and I quote, ‘her turn to take a selfish,’ so she’s unable to come pick you up.”

“Ew.” David winces. “That either means she’s gone to a tailgate or is picking up Ted, and I don’t want any of that.”

“I could drive you home?” Patrick pipes up. 

Stevie smiles, dramatically turning around and exiting back to her seat. 

David turns back to Patrick. “You wouldn’t mind?” 

Patrick shrugs, lips tugging into a smile. “I mean, my place is always an option.” Patrick winks. _Winks._

David is stunned, and his mouth hangs open. He hasn’t read Patrick’s letter yet, but something about the confidence in Patrick’s eyes tells him that coming over will be different this time. Patrick drops a kiss on his shoulder, as if silently confirming David’s thoughts. 

When Bob the Bus Driver pulls into the Elmdale city limits, he starts blasting Adele, encouraging everyone to “wake up and smell the roses.” Patrick decides to sway along to _Right as Rain,_ singing in an off key falsetto. It’s not exactly a love song, but David is absolutely smitten. Easy laughter bubbles up from his chest as he watches Patrick under the glow of fluorescent lights. It’s the happiest they’ve been in a long time.

***

Patrick’s body is buzzing, and he feels absolutely on edge. He didn’t want to lead with “my parents took a last minute trip out to Newfoundland,” because he is certainly no longer hiding this part of himself from them, but he also wants David to know that they have the house to themselves.

When they walk through the front door, David all but melts. He takes everything in slowly, just remembering what it feels like to be back. He spins around, still holding his duffel, and looks a little confused. 

“It’s barely nine p.m., and all the lights are off.” 

Patrick shrugs and tries to hide his smile as he strips his ski jacket off. “That’s right. My parents are out of town.”

David lets go of his bag with a thud, and his mouth twists in giddy suspicion. “Patrick Brewer, did you invite me back here, knowing that little piece of information?”

Patrick unbuttons David’s coat for him while he stands there, dumbfounded. “That’s correct.” He hangs David’s coat up and takes his hand, then leads him up the stairs while walking backwards. He doesn’t want to stop looking at David yet. “Thought you might want to get all the campfire smoke off your body.”

“Oh I do,” David picks up the pace and nudges Patrick to do the same.

The steam and hot water of the shower slowly lift the salt, sweat, and smoke of winter camping off both of their bodies. They steal kisses in between swipes of minty shower gel against skin. Patrick wraps his arms around David’s middle, and splays his hands across David’s lower back. David massages Patrick’s scalp and rinses out shampoo to the sound of Patrick’s gentle humming. He cracks open one eye and tries to look at David while avoiding soap suds.

“This time around,” he opens his other eye, confident that David has gotten most of the shampoo out by now. “I hope you stay.” Patrick whispers, then pulls David closer. 

David stills his fingers and tips his head so that they’re looking directly at each other. 

“I’m going to,” David says, smiling.

This time, David is sure of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This series is by no means finished!! I'll be taking a break to visit another AU, but I have more outdoor school fics in the works! If there's anything you'd like to see or have questions left unanswered, I will definitely accept prompts! 
> 
> Thanks again for sticking this one out. 💕 Come find me @kindofspecificstore on tumblr

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on tumblr @kindofspecificstore :)


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